“Thank you!” murmured Mrs. Decie.  “You are most kind.”

Passing the schoolroom, he looked in through the open door.  Christian was sitting there.  The sight of her face shocked him, it was so white, so resolutely dumb.  A book lay on her knees; she was not reading, but staring before her.  He thought suddenly:  ’Poor thing!  If I don’t say something to her, I shall be a brute!’

“Miss Devorell,” he said:  “You can reckon on him.”

Christian tried to speak, but her lips trembled so that nothing came forth.

“Good-night,” said Dawney, and walked out....

Three days later Harz was sitting in the window of his studio.  It was the first day he had found it possible to work, and now, tired out, he stared through the dusk at the slowly lengthening shadows of the rafters.  A solitary mosquito hummed, and two house sparrows, who had built beneath the roof, chirruped sleepily.  Swallows darted by the window, dipping their blue wings towards the quiet water; a hush had stolen over everything.  He fell asleep.

He woke, with a dim impression of some near presence.  In the pale glimmer from innumerable stars, the room was full of shadowy shapes.  He lit his lantern.  The flame darted forth, bickered, then slowly lit up the great room.

“Who’s there?”

A rustling seemed to answer.  He peered about, went to the doorway, and drew the curtain.  A woman’s cloaked figure shrank against the wall.  Her face was buried in her hands; her arms, from which the cloak fell back, were alone visible.

“Christian?”

She ran past him, and when he had put the lantern down, was standing at the window.  She turned quickly to him.  “Take me away from here!  Let me come with you!”

“Do you mean it?”

“You said you wouldn’t give me up!”

“You know what you are doing?”

She made a motion of assent.

“But you don’t grasp what this means.  Things to bear that you know nothing of—­hunger perhaps!  Think, even hunger!  And your people won’t forgive—­you’ll lose everything.”

She shook her head.

“I must choose—­it’s one thing or the other.  I can’t give you up!  I should be afraid!”

“But, dear; how can you come with me?  We can’t be married here.”

“I am giving my life to you.”

“You are too good for me,” said Harz.  “The life you’re going into—­may be dark, like that!” he pointed to the window.

A sound of footsteps broke the hush.  They could see a figure on the path below.  It stopped, seemed to consider, vanished.  They heard the sounds of groping hands, of a creaking door, of uncertain feet on the stairs.

Harz seized her hand.

“Quick!” he whispered; “behind this canvas!”

Christian was trembling violently.  She drew her hood across her face.  The heavy breathing and ejaculations of the visitor were now plainly audible.